Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
by platinumsnitch
Summary: Stuck in the tent while hiding from the death eaters, Harry and Ron have a laugh over Muggle music. But to Ron, it's more than just that...


Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

Ron had a hard time actually believing that Muggles had the patience for these radio contraptions – that _anyone_ would really. In their tent in the woods, in the lonely and dark forest, he had been tinkering with his radio often, trying to pick up a signal for Potter Watch to no avail. He almost thought that perhaps the hissing and crackling was just what music sounded like on the rusted old thing. He would have thought that Harry and Hermione would have been of _some_ help, having been raised as Muggles but they both attested that they were brought to Hogwarts too young to know much about their "native technology". _Some help that is,_ he thought solemnly.

Hermione had volunteered to stand watch in the forest. Her parting words had alluded to the fact that she was annoyed, and outrageously so, by the incessant sound of static and Ron's frustrated swearing that had been going on ever since they had found the radio. Ron had watched her leave in a huff and, chalking it up to her general disposition and her bitterness at his only recently rectified departure _and_ the lack of food, he had chosen not to take it personally.

"Must be pretty bad for a girl to agree to be out in the forest by herself to get away from your antics," Harry joked, allowing some of the happiness he felt at Ron's recent arrival to seep into his tone.

"Well I'm sure it wasn't just me… you know… why she volunteered… she's not just any girl. She's brave and all that," Ron defended. He knew Harry could see his ears turn pink just slightly… the way they always did when he let slip anything overtly complimentary about Hermione.

"You don't have to tell me how you feel about her. I'm flattered you came back but I didn't figure it was just for me," Harry said, smirking. He didn't care at all why Ron had really come back, in truth. He was just happy they were all together and civil again (for the most part.)

Ron turned around in his seat toward Harry to protest, but the radio made a sudden sizzling, popping, bacon-frying sound and then burst to life with song. It was nothing Ron had ever heard before… the tempo was poppy and melodic and it reminded him of something his mother listened to on their record player claiming that it was from "her glory days", snapping and swaying as she listened. He knew Muggle and Wizard songs were different but largely followed the same style trends. This was definitely older than he was.

As the lyrics started, they both listened in silence… secretly glad of something to listen to besides each other's voices.

"_Though I've tried before to tell her  
Of the feelings I have for her in my heart  
Every time that I come near her  
I just lose my nerve  
As I've done from the start"_

"_Every little thing she does is magic_

_Everything she does just turns me on_

_Even though my life before was tragic_

_Now I know my love for her goes on"_

Mid-verse, Harry burst out laughing. Ron unlocked his gaze from the radio and started laughing as well, not knowing what was so funny. Harry's intermittent and involuntary half-squeals between bursts of laughter entertained Ron and it wasn't until the song was almost over that they both stopped laughing.

"What are _you_ laughing about, mate?" Ron finally asked, still catching his breath. Harry looked astonished and started laughing again.

"Are you kidding? Did you hear those lyrics? Everything she does is _magic_?"

Ron was now genuinely quizzical. "I heard."

"Pretty hilarious isn't it? Muggle interpreations of magic. As if magic is something girls just do to attract attention. Imagine loving a girl and everything she does is _real_ magic. Disarming spells here… stunning spells there… like she can't help it! As if love isn't hard enough, they'd want to throw in magic too. Blimely. Ignorance really is bliss."

"Not to mention love potions!" said Ron, "I know the Muggles have a song about Love Potion #9 – that's what the Muggles must think it's called anyway. Mum used to play it from Dad's Muggle collection on this old Victrola he found. That one doesn't end with anyone almost getting poisoned in Slughorn's office. All fun and games until you overdose on love potion, Muggles! And Merlin forbid the girl doesn't have _any_ potion and gets as desperate and needy as Lavender. If she had love potion… Blimely, mate. Could you imagine? These Muggles don't know what they're talking about… potions… magic… romanticizing it when it's more trouble than it's worth."

Ron's rant inspired another loud peal of laughter from Harry.

"Yeah… real mess Lavender was. You see what I mean? No idea what they're talking about. Suppose if any of these songwriters met Lavender they would have had no love songs to write about in our parents' generation – scared out of their pants with fear of the whole magic business."

Ron supposed it was a bit funny, but falling in love with witches had seemed to be just that type of business for him in all seriousness. Harry was lucky – Ginny wasn't the type for potions, emotions and romance. Though she had liked Harry enough, their relationship itself had been…well… easy looking. Ron really did have feelings for a girl whose every move really _did_ seem to involve magic. For example, spending more time fighting off magical beasts and disarming dark wizards than anything else (and occasionally disarming and stunning him herself between spells, looks and words... hell even the scent of her damn toothpaste!) This had been general practice for as long as he had known Hermione… at least as long as he'd known that he loved her. It wasn't much consolation, because aside from their customary spats, he couldn't remember back far enough to know what it felt like _not_ to love her.

Harry was still chuckling, seemingly thoroughly enjoying his first chance to laugh for what seemed to Ron like too long a time. He allowed Harry his overzealous reaction to feeble humor in light of the fact that Ginny's whereabouts were uncertain and that he was, as all the sign's indicated, slated for a battle of potentially deadly proportions with Voldemort.

Hermione returned to the tent, setting down the Sneakoscope and throwing off her jacket.

"Even through most of those spells I could tell you were having a good hearty laugh about something, Harry. What on Earth is so terribly amusing?" She smiled despite her instinct to be reproachful, delighted to see Harry with a smile still lingering on his face.

"I'll let Ron tell you. Next watch is mine… have fun you two," and he gave Ron the parting glance that had become his regular sign-off lately. It seemed to say _I'll be back in an hour… don't try anything funny that I won't want to walk in on._ Always unnecessary. Ron related to that first part of the song too – he could never just _tell_ Hermione how he felt. She'd bowl him over laughing – he was positive of that.

"Alright, Ronald. Fess up. You were having a go at me, weren't you?" Hermione teased, kicking off her rain-soaked boots and sitting on her cot.

"For Merlin's sake 'Mione. No. What would give you that idea anyway? Awfully defensive aren't we?" he said, flopping down on his own bed across from her, untying his shoes, ready to get into bed and accept her usual annoyed huffing as she tried to fall asleep.

"I was just kidding Ronald. You were laughing 10 minutes ago… then I walk into the room and you're thoroughly without your sense of humor. After all these years, do you really think I'm serious all the time? All books and studying?"

"Sorry. You just make me nervous." _Shit. That was the wrong thing to say. She shouldn't know you're nervous. That was number one on the "list of things not to do around witches you like" in the book Fred and George had gotten you. Stupid… stupid… stupid…_

"What do you mean I make you nervous?" she asked. Ironically, she was shaking a bit as she unbuttoned her sweater, exposing an also-soaked cotton t-shirt.

_Now you've done it Ronald_, he thought.

"Ever since I came back I've been on pins and needles, 'Mione. I don't know how to act around you. I never do when you're mad at me… you just have this effect on me when I know you're mad. Makes me tense up… you're intimidating for being so small." _Every little thing she does is magic._ _Merlin. Either she'd really mastered silent spells in his absence or this was exactly what the Muggles meant – she's making you nervous… making you blather on like this…_

Hermione let out a mirthless laugh. She shook her head as she reached for his deluminator and shut out the lights with a click.

"You'd think you'd refrain from falling out of my good graces then if I make you that nervous."

Then he could hear her moving out of her clothes. His body went rigid as he waited in the darkness for her to speak. Of course she wouldn't. He heard as the sopping cotton slid across her soft, pale skin. As if someone had accessed his memory against his will, his mind shot to a few weeks prior. In his mind he could vividly see the skin of Hermione's stomach, as he had when she had stretched up to dust a lighting fixture in his mother's kitchen. He had touched that skin… throwing himself in front of a curse in that Muggle coffee shop he had grabbed her around the waist and grazed her warm, bare skin with his fingertips. He wondered if she remembered. He knew there was no spell she could render to get him to feel this way… _this was what those damn Muggles were talking about_.

Though the tent was completely devoid of light, his mind's eye could see her bending over her bag for a dry shirt. He could hear her stomping around in the dark freeing her legs from her soaking jeans. It was the same staccato stomping he was used to when he would make her mad enough to leave – usually at any mention of the name Viktor Krum. He was glad, for once, to hear her footsteps stay so close. He could hear every fiber of her cotton pajamas slide over her hips. _Stop it, Ron. Stop. It's Hermione… stop._

Finally, mercifully, she settled down under her blanket and her movement stopped. He was almost sure he could hear her chest heaving against the wool of her blanket, sure that she was slowing her breathing to invite sleep… or keeping herself from crying.

He sighed… he was getting tired of sharing a confined, largely private space with her most nights, alone in his feelings (he was sure he was alone) of longing and wondering at the possibility of letting her know how he felt. At Hogwarts and the Burrow there were other people, other rooms… distractions… that gave his mind excuses for never telling her that he had been in love with her for as far back as he could remember. It seemed ridiculous with death on their doorstep and in all their privacy not to tell her. He had been operating under the notion that fate would not allow either of them to die without his feelings being known… without being able to kiss her just once.

"So you got the radio to work," she sighed, obviously unable to sleep through her annoyance.

"Yeah… rubbish though. Muggle sentimental crap from mum's era."

"Hey now… that wasn't all bad," she said, a laugh in her voice.

"You didn't hear the song Harry and I did then," Ron said, turning himself toward her.

"I heard it as I was walking toward the tent, that was the Police… Everything She Does Is Magic," she said.

"Well then you know exactly what we were laughing at."

"I think Muggle interpretations of magic are rather fascinating."

"Typical," Ron said with a snort of amusement.

"What, you've never… felt like a girl had a spell over you?" Hermione said, her voice catching at the overt ridiculousness of her words.

Many a woman had cast spells on Ron. Even she had done it a couple of times, though they were generally meant to harm him.

_She knows. Shit… she knows. This is the point of no return… you say yes or you say no._

"Yes… I have," he said. "I didn't say the song wasn't based in truth, just that the thought that it had anything to do with _magic as we know it_ is ridiculous."

"OK… explain, then _magic as we know it_ in relation to romance and why that's so far out of the realm of possibility," Hermione said.

_Just do it… you just have to say it. Harry's been gone only 10 minutes, you have time. Just say it. Tell her you only thought that the song was funny because you're almost certain that someone had written in specifically about her. That Harry would never understand because Ginny had never used any of this tricky half-magic inadvertent seduction that Hermione liked to use… just tell her._

"Because it has nothing to do with magic – I know this for a fact. For instance, I know there's no way that you can put visions in my head, 'Mione. But right now I know that you are sitting up in bed. You have one eyebrow raised," he heard her sleeve brush against her side, shooting up to her eyebrow to check the right one for any flexion. "Your mouth is open. You're looking at me like I'm absolutely insane. Your skin is glowing like it always does when you've just come in from the rain and your cheeks are pink from the cold, but not as pink as most girls get. Somewhere between Luna's blush and Ginny's. You're making fists like you always do when I'm right, and you should know they have never and will never intimidate me as much as you'd like them to. Your knees are touching your stomach and you are flexing your toes, because that's what you do when you're tired. And I know that even in the pitch black you look beautiful… even though you're annoyed with me."

In the moments of stunned silence, Ron mentally groped the air for his words. He wanted to shove them back in his mouth… find them… put them back… put them away. He was prepared for a reaction… but he had not prepared for the entire lack of one. No movement. He could barely hear her breathing.

"Alright… let me do you," she finally suggested, her breath catching on her own awkward phrasing but pushing on as she always did. "First of all, you're lousy at occlumency, so I _could_ access your mind if I wanted, but you know very well that I can't. If I could, my love life would be much different." He prickled… _what did she mean by that? _"Your eyes are wide as saucers… they always are when you find out something you didn't already know about someone's emotions since you are too stupid to catch on when a girl likes you, and has liked you for ages, might I add. You're crossing your arms. Even though I haven't seen your feet all night I know you're wearing the Gryffindor socks your mother knit for you last Christmas because you always wear them to bed when it's raining out. Your knuckles are white because, although you are trying to remain nonchalant – that means _casual_, Ronald – you are nervous and you didn't want me to know it. I can read your knuckles in the dark, Ron. How do you like _that?_ Thought you were the only one who had us figured out, did you?"

"I _know_ what nonchalant means," Ron whispered, trying to unclench his grip on his own arms. _Damn… she is good._

"Ronald Weasley! I tell you that I've loved you, that I know you like a book, that my feelings are mutual and that's all you have to say to me?! You are absolutely ridiculous!"

"At no time, Hermione, did you _ever_ say you loved me! I know because I've been waiting for years for you to say it so that I would have an excuse to say it back without you laughing!"

"Well, that's a convenient excuse, isn't it! Of course I wouldn't laugh at you! What would make you think…"

"I love you!" Ron yelled… he hadn't meant to sound so harsh… _That isn't how this goes, Weasley. How like you to let it end in a screaming match. Typic-_

But before he could finish his thought he heard her covers flit back in the darkness. He could smell in the air rushing toward him the hint of toothpaste… the soft fibers of cotton… her hair smelled… well… like _home_.

She didn't have to feel through the dark – she had been right. He was sitting bolt upright, arms folded, his feet fiddling in his thickly woven socks. In a tackle, she knocked him backwards, his head hitting the table behind his bed.

Hermione laughed at the melon-like thud and cradled his head between her hands, tangling her fingers in his shaggy red hair… running the thumb of one hand over the freckles of his cheek. He felt electrified.

"Are you alight?! I'm so sorry," she said, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a giggle.

"You see, Hermione Granger? I win. I told you I loved you and I knew you'd laugh at me. The head injury is, I'll be honest, an unsurprising bonus." He hoped that she could hear the subtle smile in his words. She clicked the deluminator to find just that.

He searched her eyes and for once could not tell what she was feeling. He felt as though she was equally liable to slap him or kiss him and he wasn't sure which he deserved. He had left her, he had very uneloquently told her he loved her and for years he had taken her loyalty, her help and her care for granted. However… he'd also stuck by her, defended her, fought off dementors for her when he knew that summoning a Patronus was her weakness – never once teasing her about it or chastising her like she would have done to him.

Her eyes grazed his face, finally coming to light on his lips. After learning all her little physical instincts, he finally took this one and he ran with it. He plunged his fingers into her rain-soaked hair, pulling her towards him. He kissed her with an intensity he didn't know he was capable of. As his lips met hers and glided across them hungrily, he felt his head spin. It had never been like this with Lavender… it was like disapparating… like getting up too fast after too much fire whiskey. But that was exactly what he was doing – waking up from a drunken stupor. A stupor he'd been in for years, from the moment he met her until now.

With his head still feeling cloudy and dizzy he took the opportunity to place a hand just under her shirt to feel her smooth stomach for a second time. He ran it along her back – that spot he'd been audience to for years but never been able to touch when she bent over for a book bag or tying her shoe. She clutched him closer to her and she did the same – he felt her hand travel up his bare back, digging in her fingertips.

She pulled herself away and pressed her cheek to his, whispering in his ear. "I love you too, Ron Weasley. And you know as well as I do, that laugh didn't count."

He almost couldn't help himself – every instinct he'd learned from Fred and George had told him not to let her get away with it, argue, tease…don't let her win. But Fred and George were far away and he was holding Hermione Granger. He'd spent enough of their lives arguing with her and if he was going to have to start picking his battles, he was happy to ignore this one completely. He kissed her cheeks that were raised into a gloating smile. But he watched it melt away and she relaxed those cold, pink cheeks into a warm and inviting kiss.

Just then, Harry pulled back the tent flaps. With their shirts half up and locked in a passionate kiss, there would be no explaining this away.

"Well… tell me Ron… the Muggles have it right then?" Harry asked, smirking at him.

"Yup," Ron laughed as Hermione buried her face into his neck laughing. "When it comes to love, the Police know more about magic than we do."

Settling down into his bed, Harry turned off the lights, shaking his head in laughter. Hermione cuddled next to Ron and cast a quick Muffliato spell.

"Already compromising your magical morality for me, are y-?" he started.

"So after all that," she interrupted in a tone of disappointment, "You really _do_ think that song is rubbish?"

With the Muffliato spell still hovering in the air around them, Ron leaned in until his lips were grazing her ear and sang the chorus to her in the dark.

"_Every little thing she does is magic_

_Everything she does just turns me on_

_Even though my life before was tragic_

_Now I know my love for her goes on"_


End file.
